Chapter Forty-Eight

“I don’t understand,” Annev said for the third time. “Why can’t I see him?”

“Because Sraon’s condition is very delicate. Your presence could make his trauma permanent.”

Annev scrutinized the high priest using the magic of his enhanced codavora ring, but he was soundly rebuffed by the strength of the man’s mental walls. He’s hiding something, Annev thought, but what?

“Have Titus and Therin been in to see him?”

Reeve sighed, his expression dour. “Annev, can we talk about this another time? I’m really very busy.”

“I’ve noticed. In fact, you’ve become so busy that you’ve completely forgotten about our agreement.”

“And what agreement is that?”

Annev snorted. “I agreed to help you find Bron Gloir and the Oracle of Odar, and you agreed to use the Oracle to help me remove the Hand of Keos.”

“And?” Reeve said. “That agreement has not changed.”

Annev felt his frustration creeping in, threatening to seize control of his emotions. “It’s been two weeks. You haven’t said a word to me. You haven’t bothered to update me about Sraon’s health, and you haven’t discussed our journey to Banok or Chaenbalu once.”

“That’s because you can’t do anything to aid your friend, and I never said I would accompany you south. We talked about the possibility of an expedition and you offered your assistance in locating the Oracle. The rest takes planning and preparation.”

Annev groaned aloud. He felt like he was going mad. Reeve’s responses felt like a repeat of the conversation they had shared two weeks ago—and the man didn’t seem in any hurry to change the status quo. It was almost as if the high priest wanted Annev to stay, but not to do anything. He didn’t ask Annev to help the Order or perform any services, nor did he hasten Annev’s departure. He didn’t even ask about the Hand of Keos, despite Annev having explained the dangers of keeping it at the Enclave.

“Fine,” Annev said, forcing his tone to remain civil. “When do you think I might leave?”

“So hasty, Annev—so quick to rush into danger, to start experimenting. I understand your desires—”

“How long?”

Reeve look at him flatly. “I don’t know. There are many factors to consider—not least that there are assassins out there hunting down the members of our Order. I can’t send you to any of our safehouses, so you’ll need supplies for food and lodging. I need to determine which of my Dionachs to send with you and—”

“Tym and Misty. They’ve both befriended me, and I’d enjoy their company.”

“Misty must remain here to steward the Stormcallers—”

“Just Tym then.”

“—and Brother Tym is helping me heal Sraon’s memories,” Reeve said firmly. “I need them both here.”

“Send me with Dionach Webb then—or alone, I don’t care.”

The Arch-Dionach sighed. “The most useful thing you can do is stay here—and stay out of trouble.”

Annev swore in frustration and tried to use the codavora ring again to probe Reeve’s thoughts, but it was like clawing at a mirrored wall. He felt as though he were treading water, unable to make any progress toward his goals.

Reeve reached for the door to his private study. “You should go and see your friends, Annev. They’ll be taking their Tests of Ascendancy soon, and I imagine you want to be here to support them when they do.”

Annev did want to support his friends . . . but seeing them move forward while he was stuck in place ate at him. He couldn’t argue the point, though, for the high priest had already retreated into his study.

***

“There’s a testing room for each of us,” Titus said, as they left the library. “It’s down on the lower levels—not far from your new room.”

“But they won’t tell us what will happen until we get there,” Therin interjected, “which is stupid. How are we supposed to prepare?”

“It’s not that stupid,” Titus argued. “We were never told what to expect in the Tests of Judgment. Figuring it out was part of the test.”

“But it should have something to do with our training. That should be obvious, right? I mean, they aren’t going to try and get me to do any mindwalking, are they? Because I’m rubbish at that mental stuff—and they’ve barely mentioned a word of theology, so they better not be testing us on all that rotting priestcraft.”

“Don’t you find that strange?” Annev said, finally speaking up.

“What?”

“That we’ve been here for over a month and they haven’t spoken a word of doctrine to us. Nothing about the purpose of the Order, or our relationship to Odar.”

“I’m fine with that,” Therin said, wiping a booger on his sleeve. “I hated all those classes. Modern and Ancient History. Mathematics and Agronomy. Boring stuff that was never useful. Give me stealth classes with Master Der any day.”

“I liked those classes!” Titus protested. “Ancient Benifew was my favorite—and besides, you always hated combat training.”

“Not all of it. I liked knife-throwing and the like. I just didn’t care for the parts where people were beating me up.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Annev said interrupting. “I’m talking about religion . . . philosophy. Why we’re here—not just in this room, but why we exist at all.”

Therin shrugged. “Sounds like something Sodar would have taught.”

“Exactly!” Annev said, his voice lowered. “These men are all priests, of the same Order as Sodar . . . but have you heard a single one of them explain their doctrine, their tenets, or anything besides how to use magic? It all feels so . . . hollow.”

“That is strange, I suppose,” Titus conceded, “but maybe it’s something they teach you once you’ve become a member of the Order.”

“Shouldn’t it be the opposite?” Annev pressed. “Shouldn’t they start with their doctrine, before we learn any magic, rather than after we’ve become magically dangerous?”

“I don’t know,” Therin said, raising both his hands as if in defense or even apathy. “And so long as it’s not part of the Test of Ascendancy, I don’t much care.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Annev said, dropping the topic. His friends clearly felt no need to learn more about the religion they were supposedly on the precipice of joining. Perhaps, in their minds, they had always belonged to it—or perhaps they had no faith to speak of—but it all felt wrong to Annev. All this focus on training the boys’ powers with skywater and quaire. What was the point of it? The implication was that they were creating new members for the Order and strengthening its dwindling membership, but if that were the case a spiritual conversion should be essential. Instead, the Dionachs seemed focused solely on the physical survival of their Order, on acquiring power for themselves and their caste members, rather than the preservation of any central doctrine. Sodar had mentioned this, though Annev had assumed he referred to a lack of faith at the Academy. Now, he wondered . . . had Sodar meant the men and women of his own Order? And if Annev had even a modicum of talent manipulating quaire, would he have been so engrossed in his training that it would have escaped his notice? Aside from his secret attempts at artificing, he had little else to think about. Perhaps it was natural that he began to see the cracks in the facade, while his friends were swept up in an entirely different experience.

“You’ll both do great on your tests, I’m sure,” he said, trying to be supportive. “It’s not like the Academy, where it was a competition. You only have to contend with yourselves—and they wouldn’t test you if they thought you would fail.”

Therin’s mood seemed to brighten at this. “Yeah, that’s a good point. They keep saying we’re really talented and all, so the test is probably something simple, like pushing some rocks across a table or some mind reading, you know? Just a rite of passage.”

“Right,” Annev said, slapping his friends on the back. “I’m sure you’ll both do great—and I’ll be waiting right here at the end of it.”

“I wish you could watch,” Titus said, wringing his hands a bit. “Only full Dionachs are allowed to—otherwise it might give someone else an unfair advantage in their test.” He chewed his lip. “You probably won’t take the test, though? Maybe they could make an exception.”

Annev swallowed the bile that rose at the thought of his failures. Worse, it seemed, his friends had given up on him ever learning to manipulate quaire. He had privately accepted his failure, but it hurt to have his friends speak so plainly about it. Once again he questioned his motives for coming to the Enclave and thought of Jian’s prophecy: You will learn the truth if you go to Quiri—but it will not make you happy, and you will not join the Dionachs Tobar.

Annev had chosen to come anyway—to defy fate and claim his own destiny—only the longer he stayed here, the more out of place he felt. He knew it to be a strange and irrational feeling, yet it persisted.

Perhaps I should just go, he thought. Just leave in the middle of the night—the middle of the day, even. Titus and Therin don’t need looking after. Reeve is no help . . . and now he won’t even let me see Sraon. I have no reason to stay.

“It’s fine,” Annev said, realizing he’d let the silence stretch too long. “I’ll be just down the hall. When you’ve finished your tests, we can celebrate together.”

“You’re sure?” Titus asked with a faint look of concern.

“Absolutely—now go and earn your robes.”

The two boys split away toward the rooms where they would be tested, and Annev watched them go, still feeling melancholy.

I’ll give Reeve one last chance. Tomorrow morning, first thing. And if he won’t send me to reclaim the Oracle, I’ll pack my things and go anyway. I can search for it without his aid—or I can return to Luqura and conclude my business with Saltair. Maybe reconnect with Fyn. The more Annev thought about it, the more he liked that idea. I’ll pack now, he decided, while Therin and Titus take their tests. There’s no reason to wait. That felt right. The Enclave might manage to ensnare its novices with promises of power and the lure of magic, but it had no hold over him—only promises they had failed to keep. Even Sraon’s unstable condition no longer compelled him to stay; he had no way to help his old friend, and no better reasons to stay if or when he recovered. Annev was the master of his own fate, and he’d be damned if he was going to let a cursed golden hand, a lost Oracle, or a book of old prophecies dictate his path.

He glanced after his friends once more, now silently wishing them well, and then he hurried toward his rooms to prepare for the journey he expected to make on the morrow.